


we were three (the moon, you and me)

by neondvcks



Series: here, in the fairy wood [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Dark Fairy Tale Elements, F/M, Mentions of Death, Sirens, jester is a siren and fjord is an unsuspecting sailor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-27 21:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neondvcks/pseuds/neondvcks
Summary: Fjord has heard all of them - on the docks, over half-drunk cups, across endless voyages with dark horizons -  and yet he still finds himself woefully unprepared when the soft musical voice drifts up from the water. The song, wordless and haunting, tugs at something lonely deep inside his chest and fills him with a longing so intense he’s up on the railing before any sense returns to his mind.





	we were three (the moon, you and me)

**Author's Note:**

> Quick disclaimer: this is pure self-indulgence and slightly dark (not really) for the month of halloween. I have not written for this fandom before (or written a lot of fanfic at all the last few years) and English is not my first language so excuse the inevitable mistakes.

There are a great many stories about a great many things lurking beneath the ocean waves. Unknown creatures waiting hungrily for mindless sailors, benevolent forces looking to save lost souls; myths of claws and teeth and shadows, magical and terrible and irresistible.

Fjord has heard all of them - on the docks, over half-drunk cups, across endless voyages with dark horizons -and yet he still finds himself woefully unprepared when the soft musical voice drifts up from the water. The song, wordless and haunting, tugs at something lonely deep inside his chest and fills him with a longing so intense he’s up on the railing before any sense returns to his mind. Even then it’s only the striking of eight bells that persuades him to step down safely onto the deck instead of diving headfirst into the salty abyss.

Afterwards the voice finds him again and again. Always after the sun has set, always when he’s alone. It speaks to him in a foreign accent, the sound both attractive and terrifying, trying to lure him to a death on the murky ocean floor. Fjord tries and fails to catch a glimpse at the source, though he’s convinced he sees a flash of blue scales the one time he aims a harpoon into the depths below - right before a gleeful laugh rings in his ears.

Every now and then it leaves him alone for nights on end, lulls him into a false sense of solitude and when he starts to think that maybe - _just maybe_ \- it has grown bored and tired, it re-appears; cryptic and joyful and threatening.

It’s in moments like this - when he’s tired, his eyes are lost on the horizon and he finds himself buried in his own thoughts - that it manages to trick him into engagement. The voice tells splendid stories, fills his mind with wonders, entertaining and alluring, and then prods him for information which he can’t help but give. Ridiculous things, arbitrary things, things that seem unimportant right until he lies in bed and dread fills him as he thinks of all the ways he just signed his soul away.

* * *

“Don’t you have other sailors to— _devour_ or something?” Fjord laments one night. He’s tired and has been on the water for too long.

“Sure,” the voice replies cheerily, “but none that are quite so pleasant in conversation. Nor as handsome.” The blush that creeps up along his neck only adds to his annoyance.

“Aren’t you _tired_?” It sounds like a plea even to his own ears. “Aren’t you bored? Cold? Hungry?”

“Ravenous,” comes the reply without missing a beat, raising the hairs on Fjord’s arms. “Would you like to help me with that?”

Fjord grumbles something unintelligible under his breath and is rewarded with a bubbly laugh. He ignores the misplaced sense of pride that springs up at being the cause of it, instead he lets himself slump against a barrel and wonders if anyone has ever been stalked by a fish before.

“Will you please tell me more about the food you eat on the islands? Those bananas sound _pretty interesting_.”

He sighs but complies. It’s easier to talk mindlessly about exotic fruits and strange pastries (the creature seems to be most interested in the descriptions of sweet flavors) than to spend the remainder of his watch trying to ignore the presence down in the water.

* * *

Vandran tells him it’s a siren. Fjord doesn’t talk about the encounters and Vandran doesn’t ask an explanation for the sudden interest in deep-sea legends; simply narrows his eyes slightly.

Nearly everyone - both in port and on sea - has a story about sirens and nearly everyone is willing to share it.Alluring and highly deadly, sirens are said to be insatiable and merciless and the most lethal monsters beneath the waves.

“They’ll tear the flesh straight from your bones,” the cook grins menacingly.

“They’ll suck the soul out of your chest,” the dockmaster warns.

Fjord’s imagination has always been lacking, more practically inclined, but even so he can’t help the image his mind creates. Half woman, half demon; a servant of death with long flowing hair and a scaled tail; eyes filled with murder and mirth.

There are no tales, however, about unexplained fascinations and relentless fixations on unassuming seafarers. Nothing about curiosity and wit or endless teasing. No one talks about genuine wonder and quiet kinship or offers up an answer as to why Fjord has started dreaming of radiant laughter.

* * *

Fjord has come to expect the company now, feels almost dissapointed on the evenings the siren doesn’t appear. She laughs _with_ him as much as at him now, she finds simple ways of provoking him, of keeping him engaged. She asks puzzling questions and offers challenging answers; settling herself quietly and comfortably inside Fjord’s mind.

He cannot quite figure out why. He’s never been a particularly interesting conversationalist nor one for clever insights. He’s quiet and simple and truly the strangest thing about him are the chipped tusks he keeps neatly hidden away. He’s not inspiring like Vandran nor cunning like Sabien, yet he doesn’t hear them speak of strange visitors that wish to lure them into the darkness.

And so he wonders, his explanations always coming up short.

Until one night when he’s talking gruffly and reluctantly about the orphanage and he’s met with a tender; “you must’ve been so lonely.” It’s filled with such sorrowful compassion, such melancholic empathy and suddenly the thought comes to him.

_“As are you.”_

No reply comes and he said it so low and quietly he isn’t even sure it carried over the sound of creaking wood; but it fits perfectly in his chest as the truth is want to do and looking back he wonders how he could’ve missed it at all.

* * *

It becomes increasingly difficult to remember to be afraid. When the siren mentions her hunger so flippantly or half-heartedly tries to coax him off the ship, Fjord often lacks the distresshe knows he should be feeling. Instead he scoffs or chuckles or simply ignores and desperately tries not to think of what it would be like to simply give in.

It’s during one of his watches on the main deck (closer to sunrise than sundown) a muted, colorful light dances up from below the ship. Merely a second later her voice urges him softly to _“quick, come see.”_ He doesn’t hesitate but before leaning over the railing he does have the good sense of wrapping one of the rigging lines around his arm; just in case.

There in the water, faintly glowing in the light of the moon, drifts a jellyfish bloom. And another a little ways beyond that, and another beyond that. Hundreds and hundreds of small marine animals spread out in clusters as far as the eye can see, illuminating the ocean in breathtaking bioluminescence.

The hues of pinks and blues and other pastels are not what draw Fjord’s eye however; barely a few feet from him, moving effortlessly with the waves, is the most fantastical creature he has ever seen. Lit up slightly by the force of nature that’s passing them by her skin is ghastly blue, her hair darker and dripping underneath twisting horns. A soft splashing alerts him to the tail hidden in the salty water, a long unnatural shadow that stretches under her.

“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” she asks and then lifts her eyes to meet his. Bright and enchanting they leave him breathless as she studies him.

He nods slowly, unthinking, unable to look anywhere else and suddenly she flashes him a smile, fangs sharp and dangerous. A tingling spreads from the back of his neck as something pulls at his gut; he can’t say if it’s fear or want or both.

“Do you want to take a closer look?” Even if it is difficult to make out on her face as a shadow passes over it, the smirk is clear in her voice. His knuckles are white with the sheer force of keeping himself on board.

“T-the—” he coughs, his voice hoarse, “the last thing I’d want to do is jump in there.”

“Really?” she challenges.

“Their sting is quite painful,” he reasons, more with himself than with her.

She simply laughs at that.

* * *

“Would it hurt?” he can’t help but ask.

She doesn’t answer at first; searches silently for something in his gaze. He might imagine the fear reflected in her own.

“I don’t know.”

* * *

In the end it doesn’t matter, in the end it’s a storm that takes him.

The initial impact with the water is enough to force most of the air out of him; the slamming against the hull of the ship chokes out whatever would’ve remained in his lungs. The current tosses him around, whirls him in every possible direction but towards the surface until there is nothing but darkness and his burning lungs. He tries desperately to swim, kicking his legs until his boots sink below, until his vision blurs and his arms grow numb.

The only regret he can muster up as the abyss starts tugging at his consciousness is not making the jump himself.

He doesn’t notice the hands at first. Only when the webbed fingers find his own, pull him away from oblivion, does the barest hint of feeling return to his body. He still can’t see but there are scales sliding against his legs as something weighs against his chest. His face feels paralyzed when cold palms come to rest against it. The press against his lips is soft, barely noticeable and then--

Sudden fire spreads through every part of his being, sets everything ablaze as even the darkness seems to dance like flames. The pressure against his mouth grows, hot and uncomfortable and enslaving. _Burning and burning and burning._

The shock of cold and fresh air as his head breaches the surface leaves him dizzy. Gasping and spluttering he clings desperately onto the only solid thing around him as waves keep crashing over them.

He hardly registers the siren steadily pulling him, too dazed and confused, his brain too sluggish to comprehend their moving. He focuses instead on the only thing he can see; her eyes. Purple and violent and all-consuming.

If this is death, maybe dying is not so terrible.


End file.
